X Marks the Spot (Executioners MC Book 1)

by Kimmie Easley

  “What the fuck are you looking at?”

  The two men quickly scrambled, attempting to appear busy. The fucking lunkheads were useless. Hell, I guess I could use their flabby asses as a shield if needed. I snapped my head around toward the dirt road as the newbies broke out into a battle stance, barricading me as the rumble of Jesse’s sled shook the gravel driveway.

  Jesse backed his bike into his designated spot between the front porch and the detached garage. Clint backed his in on the opposite side assigned to the soldiers.

  “Shit. You boys make for a piss poor fucking wall.” Jesse barked, directing his irritation toward the two prospects.

  “Don’t worry fellas. Ya did good. Take a smoke break.” Clint grinned, like a good old, southern gentleman. Always the fucking peacekeeper. God clearly thought such a talent would be wasted on me.

  I huffed and waved my arms in the air. “What the fuck, man? What the hell am I doing here? What’s going down in Chico?”

  Jesse’s face fell. “Church in five.”

  “Church? What the …?”

  Clint quickly clasped me on the shoulder and squeezed. The bridge of his nose wrinkled. It was his way of telling me to keep my big ass mouth shut.

  My chest expanded. Being patient was not my strong suit. I was known for kicking ass first and taking names second, if I felt like giving a shit. However, Clint had never steered me wrong. He could read the old man like a fucking book. I drew my lips into a hard line to signal a response.

  Clearly on edge, Jesse stormed through the cabin that had belonged to the club since the late seventies. The MC used it as a comfortable hideout since it was self-sufficient and off the grid, deep in the heart of the Tahoe National Forest, surrounded by giant Sequoias.

  “Get this shit hole polished. Ruth’s on her way with the chow.” Jesse spouted off orders, sending Patsy into a frenzy. Jessa gave an agitated sigh, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. She may not have been happy about daddy bossing her around in front of the club, but she sure as shit got her ass in gear.

  Jesse disappeared down the hallway, slamming the door to his designated bedroom. Ruth walked in with an armful of grocery bags followed by Bonnie and Tammy. Ruth was like a mother to the poor souls who were unfortunate enough to be part of the Executioners, males and females. The fate was the same.

  And I wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else.

  “Shit, let the prospects get that. You don’t have to do that yourself.” I grabbed the bags from her arms and jerked my head toward the door, sending the wannabes into motion.

  She shook her head. “They’re on guard right now. No need to confuse them.” She giggled, but I didn’t bother to crack a smile. “Son, it’s gonna be ok. You just have to stay calm.” She popped the top on a Budweiser before passing it my way.

  I took a long swig and sighed. The welcomed, ice-cold beer bubbled in my throat. I realized that I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since early this morning. Dumb move since the sun was going down and the pain from my head was now radiating to my stomach.

  “Do you know what all this secret bullshit’s about?”

  Ruth smiled. “You know a bitch knows nothing.”

  If I hear that fucking excuse one more time, I’m going to put someone’s head through a damn wall. I rolled my eyes and huffed. There wasn’t anything Ruth didn’t know. If it had anything to do with the MC, she knew about it. She was Jesse’s number one confidant, his sounding board. It had been that way for the last twenty years.

  “The only thing I have to say is you’ll get through this. The Executioners are your family and we’re here for you. You have to trust that.”

  “What the fuck does that mean? This morning I was having eggs and coffee down at the D&K Diner, and now I’ve been kidnapped by my own damn club and am being held hostage at the cabin. I have a fucking lump on my head and the MC’s on lockdown. Someone knows something, and I want some fucking answers!”

  Bonnie and Tammy stepped into the room. My gaze darted from Ruth to the other two women. My stomach pitched. Their eyes were full of pity and worry. In true Patsy fashion, she was cowered down in another corner, and by the looks of her trembling chin, she was trying not to have a fucking break down.

  Jessa leaned against the wall tugging on a dishtowel. The stone expression on her face gave away shit. The more everyone acted like I was fucking crazy, the crazier I got. My head was spinning.

  I ran my hands through my hair. “I think I’m losing my damn mind. Seriously, someone better tell me what the hell’s going on.” My loud, baritone voice echoed throughout the room.

  “Ronin! Church, now.” Jesse’s commanding tone was all I needed to put myself in check. He rounded the corner and I promptly followed. While at the cabin, church took place in a makeshift office. Only soldiers were allowed inside. No prospects or old ladies, including Ruth.

  I surveyed the room. Stoner sat on one side next to Herc, who was tapping his fingers on the table and staring at his lap. Typical. Zombie sat on the other side, glowering at me with that signature, greasy ass smirk. Next to him was Clint, who wouldn’t even make eye contact with me. Fuck. An empty chair, my chair, was in between Jimmy and Clint. As VP, Jimmy sat directly to the left of Jesse.

  There was an order to follow. A hierarchy. The president always graced the head of the table with a gavel in hand.

  “Sit, son.” Jesse motioned to my reserved seat and leaned back in his own chair, crossing one leg over the other. He ran his hand through his scruffy, salt and pepper beard. He was a small man with a thin frame, but size was never an issue for Jesse Miller. He was a crazy fuck, with a crazy eye to match. He had gotten into a bar fight when he was still too young to drink and was pistol whipped into a coma. He took the butt end of a Smith and Wesson right in the eye, leaving him partially blind.

  He had definitely paid his dues. He fought hard to come up in the ranks and have his boney ass grace that head chair.

  He was also the only father that I had ever known. I’d had my eye on becoming an Executioner since I was a kid, chasing around the youngest Miller girl. When Jesse called me son, I knew the old man meant it.

  I sat as instructed and Jesse opened the meeting by hammering the gavel against the wood table. My pulse raced, adrenaline shooting like a drug through my veins. Waiting for answers was excruciating. This entire day has been a fucking mind bender and I still hadn’t figured out what the lockdown had to do with me.

  Jesse took a long drag off his cigarette and addressed the MC. “As you know, the Executioners are on lockdown. When one of our own come under fire, we take it personally. It’s time for a vote.”

  I glanced around the room. My wide-eyed gaze fell on each of my brothers. The veins in my bulging neck strained against my hot flesh, blood boiling, flooding my temples. The voices in my head were screaming at me, replaying every move that I had made over the last few days.

  Nothing out of the norm came to mind. Clint and I had made our usual round of collections. We made a quick run down south, but nothing big there. The exchange went smooth, just like the other hundred times I had made the same haul. Not that I hadn’t seen people die for a lot less over the years.

  “Let’s get started then.” Jesse looked directly at me. “Yay or nay. Who votes to send Ronin up north to the Portland chapter?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  (Jolene)

  Goose bumps broke out across my skin as the familiar town came into view. Jericho was small. The kind of town where everyone knew one another, even if they pretended as if they didn’t.

  Fruit orchards lined both sides of the highway. I passed my old high school on the outskirts of town. The archaic, dilapidated building appeared a lot smaller than I remembered. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of school. Now, I’d trade almost anything to go back to a simpler time. The sight of the huge oak tree on the corner, smokers’ corner, opened a flood of memories. I snickered thinking about the things my friends and I got away with under that tree. The plo
tting and planning. Lying about where we were going on the weekend and making sure our stories matched up before heading home. Practicing our parents’ signatures to forge absentee excuses. The boy/girl angst. Standing near someone you crushed on, thinking you looked cool while sucking on a cigarette and playing coy. Ok, maybe some things never got any easier.

  I drove down the side streets, surprised by how well I still remembered my way around. Some sights weren’t as sweet. For every new restaurant or store, there were at least three abandoned buildings. The D&K Diner on the corner where I used to meet my boyfriend on my lunch break hadn’t changed. Two old timers rested on the bench outside, talking with their hands and puffing away on cigars.

  The streets were dotted with oak trees, giving the town a down home, southern charm in the middle of northern California. It was a drastic change from San Diego. I rounded the corner of Second Street. My heart fluttered as I spotted the familiar wall of Harleys that lined the curb in front of the old hangout. My old stomping grounds, a bar aptly named The Clubhouse. Pop had always thought it was a brilliant play on words since the Executioners’ actual clubhouse was right upstairs.

  My hands shook as I gripped the steering wheel of my new Audi A3. I pulled into the alley that looped around to the back of the building, leading to a small gravel lot that also acted as a driveway to my father’s house out back.

  The bar was already packed for late afternoon. I tried to ignore my trembling knees as I pulled open the heavy, metal door. It took a matter of seconds for all eyes in the room to be locked in my direction.

  Allowing my own eyes to adjust to the dark cave, I scanned the dim area. The air smelled of grease and stale cigarette smoke. Leather filled the seats, whether it was chaps, club cuts, or halter-tops, it didn’t matter. The Clubhouse was a legit biker bar.

  It was also a great way to filter unreported funds, as well as being a moneymaker since the customer base was comprised of independents and 99%ers. The only 1%ers allowed on The Clubhouse turf were Executioner patch holders. Even prospects had to use a side door. Any posers who attempted to cross the threshold were spotted within seconds and promptly reminded not to return. Depending on how open they were to receiving the message, dictated how the message was delivered.

  It wasn’t a pretty sight.

  Now, by the way all of the bloodshot eyes were on me, I immediately regretted my wardrobe choice. The cream-colored blouse matched the russet colored pencil skirt and black pumps perfectly. It was one of my favorite power outfits, until today.

  “Hey, baby. You look a little stuffy. Let me help you loosen up.”

  I turned to find myself staring at a tall, snaggle toothed man grinning at me as if he was a fat kid in a candy store. With a dazed look on his face, he stepped in close enough for me to smell his hot, musty breath scorching my nostrils. His dilated eyes bounced.

  “I’m fine, thanks.” I offered a slight smile. As I turned back toward the bar, a plump, sweaty hand gripped me by the wrist.

  “You got that shit right.” He snaked his other arm around my waist and attempted to pull me in.

  “Get your fucking hands off me!” I squirmed, but his grasp tightened. No one noticed, or cared. One of the hazards of being a female in a male dominated world.

  “You and me are gonna have a little fun.” His face slithered closer, with one hand gripping my ass.

  My heart pounded in my chest, feeling as if it might explode.

  The ogre’s hand moved deeper, from my backside past the hem of my skirt. I struggled to swallow, but the bitter taste of bile in my throat left me queasy. I squeezed my eyes shut, chambered up my knee, and with one swift movement, fired, making full contact.

  Expecting to see the man on the floor, curled up in the fetal position, all of the blood drained from my face as he stood before me, hardly phased.

  Fucking tweaker.

  The man picked me up, leaving my feet dangling in midair. I flinched as he slammed me into the brick wall. Before I knew what was happening, the back of his massive hand came crashing down against my alabaster cheek, the sting leaving me dazed.

  I thought I heard the click of a gun, but couldn’t be sure due to the ringing in my ears.

  “Take your hands off that girl.”

  My body went numb as I fell to the floor.

  “What’s it to ya, bitch’?” The man bellowed.

  “You got the bitch part right. You don’t know the world of trouble you just brought on yourself, you slimy piece of shit. Get the fuck out of my bar.”

  Ruth.

  “That cunt just nailed me in my fucking balls, and now she’s gonna pay!”

  “That cunt is my daughter. Yeah, that’s right. You just laid your hands on Jesse Miller’s kid.”

  The man’s face fell. “You’re lying. You ain’t got no say around here anyway. You’re just a cock rider.”

  Ruth smirked. “Considering whose dick it is, the way I see it, my being a cock rider works in my favor and not yours. I could put this bullet through your pea-sized brain, but I think I’ll leave the fun for the boys. They need to let off a little steam. My suggestion would be for you to go ahead and tuck that mangy tail between your legs and run.”

  He stared at Ruth before backing away. She aimed the locked and loaded pistol at his head until the metal door closed behind him.

  “Anyone else want to question my authority at The Clubhouse? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Susie, get the house another round,” she hollered to the bartender.

  Once the cheering stopped, she turned to face me. “Jo, honey, what are you doing here?”

  I took Ruth’s extended hands and managed to stand on shaky legs. My body ached as my muscles attempted to ease. I blinked back the hot tears brought on by the searing pain of my wounded cheek.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. You know how I like to make an entrance.” I tried to smile, but winced instead from the slight facial movement.

  “Oh please, I think you’re confusing yourself with your sister. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  I followed Ruth up the narrow stairwell that led to the MC’s actual clubhouse. It was like being in a time warp. Posters and neon signs littered the walls, with the exception of the Veterans’ wall. That was reserved for pictures of old patch holders that dated all the way back to the sixties. The same red felt pool table from my childhood still sat in one corner and an old sectional lined the wall.

  Ruth returned from the small kitchenette with a first aid kit. “Let’s get that gash cleaned up.” She dabbed peroxide on a cotton ball and grazed my cheek. The cold sting made me lightheaded and I dropped to the couch.

  “Well, no one will have to worry about that dead weight again.”

  I knew the comment referred to the man from downstairs. “What’s going to happen to him?”

  Ruth squinted her soft eyes and gazed at me through a pinched brow. “You know how it goes. A bitch knows nothing, and I like it that way.”

  I cocked my head to one side. “Really?”

  Ignoring my question, Ruth cleaned up the kit. She took a step back and appeared to survey me. “Honey, no offense, but an outfit like that makes you stick out like a sore thumb in these parts. I think there’s some of your old stuff in the back bedroom. Why don’t you get changed and then you can fill me in on what you’re doing here.”

  Typically, I would have been offended if someone had challenged my choice of attire, but not Ruth. She was the only mother I had ever known and I took great comfort in knowing Ruth’s concern came from a good place.

  “Beer?” Ruth asked as I headed down the hall.

  “Whiskey.”

  Ruth chuckled. “Whiskey it is, then.”

  The smell of weed and dirty laundry billowed out from the rooms. The hallway was dark with dim lighting and paneling. It didn’t surprise me that nothing had been updated over the years. The Executioners didn’t remodel unless it was necessary. You know, like a shootout, a bomb, or a fire.

  I stopped briefly out
side of Ronin’s old bedroom, placing my hand on the door. My heart skipped a beat and my cheeks flushed, remembering our time together, locked away in that room for days.

  He had been living at the clubhouse since he was fifteen years old. His stepfather beat the shit out of his mother and Ronin stepped in, only to have his mother press charges against him rather than his douchebag stepdad. That was the kind of fucked up shit Ronin spent years trying to escape.

  Jesse sent a couple of soldiers over to persuade them to drop the charges, Executioner style, and gave Ronin a permanent place to live. Ruth and I had even made sure he stuck it out and graduated high school.

  I rummaged through a couple of tubs until I found one labeled “Jo”. I slipped on a pair of jeans, thankful they still fit and an old ‘Ride or Die’ tank top. Since it wasn’t exactly the appropriate ensemble to wear with heels, I continued to dig until I found my old, leather boots. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail with a tattered, black bandana.

  I caught my reflection in the mirror, stunned. I had been back in Jericho for less than an hour and had already been transported back to sixteen years old.

  Voices from the main hall lured me out from the bedroom.

  “So, the Queen Bee is really here, huh?”

  “Don’t you go starting any trouble,” Ruth responded. “Maybe you should give me some alone time with her. It’s already been a rough homecoming.”

  “Oh, hell no. This shit’s too good. Let me guess, that rich bitch car in the lot belongs to her. Am I right?”

  I stepped out from the dark hallway and eyed my sister for the first time in eight years. Jessa was a mere three years older but looked to be pushing forty instead of twenty-nine. She was frail and thin. The years of cheap dye jobs made her bottle blonde hair brittle. The denim mini skirt hung loosely on her pointy hips. The caked on make-up and signature red lipstick only added to her weathered look.

  “Gets me from point A to point B.”

  “Ah, there’s the Jo I know. Always practical.” Jessa tapped her heavy boots, shifting between both feet.